


Wicked Games

by Anonymous



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Violence, Deepthroating, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Ironfairy - Freeform, M/M, Spanking, elves on their knees are strangely alluring, loads of alcohol, naked bottom clothed top, so pls kids - don't try at home, submissive Thranduil, that does not follow safe sane consensual rules, this ship name though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2941583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>~Exactly seven days after the burial of Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews in the crypts of Erebor a feast was held in honor of the fallen Dwarven King, the rightful heir of the Lonely Mountain and its wealth.~</p><p>***<br/>Dáin and Thranduil get drunk together - and end up in the rooms of the new King of Erebor.<br/>The tags say it all, I guess. A shameless Ironfairy-PWP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enfantdivine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enfantdivine/gifts).



> It all started on tumblr. At first with dwarfsmuts Ironfairy-fanart .. and than with the following conversation between the lovely enfantdivine and myself and the following statement: "Thranduil starts complaining about Legolas who’s a disobedient little shit, and he’s really sad about it, but Dain has no idea what to say to comfort him and all he can come up with is, well what Legolas needs is a good spanking, just like his daddy :3 and then smut ensues and Thranduil is happy again, at least for the rest of the day aww"
> 
> The feast after seven days with lots of mead and ale is adapted from ancient nordic/viking history if anybody should wonder. 
> 
> yes and I really suck at titles... and forgive me in any mistakes I have made with the dwarf - i am a pervy elf fancier through and through *cough*

**Wicked Games**

**~~**

 

Exactly seven days after the burial of Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews in the crypts of Erebor a feast was held in honor of the fallen Dwarven King, the rightful heir of the Lonely Mountain and its wealth.

The distaste between the Elvenking and the stubborn dwarf was mutual as long as Thorin had lived - but at the end they had fought side by side, and Thranduil had paid his sincere respect to the fallen King, placing his sword onto his tomb in the dim twilight of Erebor’s crypts.

After all, elves, men and dwarves alike had defeated the incarnated Evil in odd unity.

If he wanted or not – attending the certainly escalating feast was his regal duty even if it meant to spent an entire evening in the company of numerous dwarves in the dark and cold stone halls of the Lonely Mountain that were so unlike his own Realm beneath the earth.

It was expected from him that he showed his respect to the new King of Erebor, to actively participate in the festivities.

 _‘So be it’_ Thranduil said to himself in a determined voice just in the moment when he placed the silvery crown of winter onto his head.

 _‘From one King to another’_ had been his own – back than - mocking words in his halls the day he had taken the company of Thorin Oakenshield captive; but in the end both had been true Kings and with another tiding of events, they both would have been loved Lords, cherished and respected by their own people.

Proud. Imperious. Stubborn – but righteous in their own way they would have ruled their realms.

Erebor’s crown passed from Thorin towards his cousin, Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills, new King under the Mountain and Lord of Erebor.

 _From one King to the other_ – once again.

~~

"I will drink all the mead ye've got” yelled Dáin, now King under the Mountain as he placed the heavy goblet back on the massive stone table in a manner that half of the content spilled across it, not caring at the slightest about the mess.

“Did ye hear me? All the mead ye've got in those halls of Erebor this night! Damned few an' they're a' deid" _(Cheers)_ and with the last words the new King rose his goblet again, toasting into the direction of the other dwarves that were seated around the kingly table.

Thranduil inwardly rolled his eyes upon the lack-of-manners Dáin Ironfoot displayed - not for the first time this very night, but he lifted his glass nonetheless, smiling bravely. The Dwarven King’s alien laugh roared like thunder through the spacious hall and the mere sound made him shudder.

‘ _Dwarves’_ the Elvenking mumbled derogatively into his cup as he took a large sip of the potent honey wine, drowning the embarrassment he felt. _‘What else did I expect from a bunch of uncivilized creatures?’_

Worse enough that he had to share a table with several of them – but had it necessarily to be Dáin who was seated right next to him? The leader of the Dwarves of the Iron Hills who had – at least tried – to insult him on the battle-field a few days earlier? The Dwarven Lord of whom even Gandalf the Grey seemed slightly intimidated, even a little scared?

 _From one King to the Other_ – of course it had to be Dáin Ironfoot, if he liked it or not, he had little to say in that matter.

It was the mead that saved him, the sweet draught of honey that flowed in abundance this very night in Erebor’s twilight halls in remembrance for the fallen dwarves, the intoxicating brew that was so much stronger than the Dorwinion he was used to.

The Elvenking eagerly accepted every refill that was offered in an attempt to drown the vicarious embarrassment that originated from the company around him, their crude and at times filthy jokes, their suggestive comments, the resulting thundering laughter.

It was disgusting, but Thranduil’s own unease disappeared with every goblet he drowned.

**~~**

Several hours and several bottles of mead later, long after Dáin had tricked the Elvenking into one of his infamous drinking games, neither of them was sober any more, they were laughing and crying over all and nothing together, sharing their very own grief and sorrows to the surprise of the remaining guest around them.

It was not long before the proud King of the Woodland Realm told the new Dwarven King the sad story of how his only son had decided to leave his father’s realm due to unrequited love, abandoning his father and neglecting the duties he had back in Mirkwood.

“And all of THAT because of a bloody she-elf?” Dáin snorted in disbelief, his voice loud and yelling right into the elf’s ear, but Thranduil did not care anymore about the lack of manners.

“Aye, that insolent brat of yours just needs a proper spanking! Just like his arrogant but pretty daddy!” the last words were nearly lost in the dwarf’s thundering laughter. He slapped his thighs several times, unable to stop. Apparently, Dáin found every word he had said beyond hilarious.

Thranduil eyes widened in sheer horror. He blinked – once, twice – trying to comprehend the exact meaning of the dwarf’s words and with realization he couldn’t keep a straight face any longer, it was the most suggestive comment he had heard the entire evening – and he has indeed heard a lot of them the very night.

“Pardon me?” the Elvenking inquired, puzzlement spread across his face. Automatically, Thranduil tilted his head to one side how he so often did, his piercing blue eyes staring horror-stricken into Dáin’s direction.

“Yer oot yer face! _(You are drunk as fuck)._ But aye – don’t look at me as if ye haven’t understood a word, woodland sprite. Yir a fool but not entirely dumb, elf” snapped Dáin, his eyes still twinkling with laughter.

Thranduil’s lips simply curled into his broadest smirk upon the repeated insults – it was not the first time, Dáin had called him that – and it was certainly not the last time, either. The previous words troubled him far more than a being called a fairy.

“Few have dared to address me in such a disdainful manner, dwarf” he commented nonchalantly, his voice all of a sudden icy and cold again. Probably, if they were not holding a feast in honor of the new King of Erebor and the alcohol that ran through his veins, the dwarf most likely would have burning cheek by now.

Being insulted on the battlefield and being insulted right at the dinner table were two different things entirely, but the elf resisted to slap Dáin across the face – no matter how much the new King deserved it.

In fact, Dáin did not seem to give a single fuck to any of the Elvenking’s words. “And why is that? I will tell ye - because ye bloody damn elves don’t have the balls to speak the truth about their mighty king” the dwarf snorted, his voice filled with utter mockery. “And therefore I even have more cause to speak my mind aloud”

Dáin laughed again like roaring thunder, knocking another goblet from the table with his thick hands – this time, however, he did not even seem to notice in his drunken state of mind.

“Speak your mind as you wish, but do not think I will endure your insults to no end“ Thranduil warned him.

“Yer Maw cares. _(Who gives a shit)_ Insults? I have not heard any!” Dáin turned towards the elf and waved his head in a dismissive manner, pretending that he had never spoken a single insult that very night.

“Somebody needs to slap that ineffable arrogance of your pretty face – and ye imperious demeanor off ye arse. I am sick of it” the dwarf added in something that was supposed to be a whisper but the words were audible for everybody around them. “Don’t pretend to be flattered by my words and being all innocent, elf! We both know yir all but innocent, we both know just how much ye deserve it – even crave it!”

The Elvenking’s slender fingers took hold of the goblet and for the blink of an eye he was tempted to splash the sticky liquid right into the face of that impertinent dwarf. It was beyond tempting, Thranduil found, but finally he decided against it and he drowned its content in a single slug, wishing the ground would open and simply swallow him.

Every word Dáin had spoken was beyond embarrassing - even in his drunken state, it was futile to give an answer to that dwarf but he replied nonetheless, his cheeks burning red by now from embarrassment and disgust.

“And who do you assume being prone for that task, Master Dwarf?” Thranduil replied in the same mocking tone, smirking slyly “Let me guess – it must be you! You’ve dreamt all your life and longer about how to humiliate me”

The dwarf simply shook his head, scratching his beard absentmindedly in his drunken state. “Ye fancy yourself a little too much, elf. Don’t ye think I waste a single thought on ye”

“I fear you do…” replied the Elvenking with a chuckle, his eyes sparkling in the light of the torches. Thranduil was not sober either, somehow finally giving into the game that Dáin decided to play with him – what was there to lose?

Dáinwas – like all dwarves – an utterly greedy creature, and at the end he would most likely get what he wanted – Thranduil thought to himself and shuddered briefly at the mere thought what the dwarf’s words had implied.

It was the strangely arousing and maddening mixture of utter distaste for the Dwarven King, alcohol and thrill – and the wicked fantasy the dwarf had placed into his head would not leave.

Not now, nor later that night, of that Thranduil was certain and he hated himself for this weakness.

Before he could think twice about what exactly he was doing, Thranduil brushed his slender fingers for the blink of an eye against the Dáin’s thighs beneath the table before he stood up, excusing himself from the feast.

It was late – very late – already and only a handful of guests were still present, most of them close family to the new King of Erebor as Thranduil had learned some hours ago.

“I fear I have to bid you a good night. Thank you for your hospitality” the elf excused himself politely from the remaining dwarves, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible in his current state.

Briefly, just in the moment before Thranduil finally turned around his piercing blue eyes came to rest on Dáin and he nodded ever so slightly towards the new Dwarven King in the manner that was so typical for the elves. Yet, its meaning was something entirely different now and he wondered if the dwarf would understand such subtle gestures.

It was not long before he heard Dáin’s distinct and utterly drunk voice ringing through the dimly-lit corridors of Erebor “Ho ye! Wait! I am not done with ye, elf!”

Thranduil chuckled despite his millennia old age like an adolescent who was drunk for the first time, ignoring the yelling dwarf as he continued to wander Erebor’s pathways like an ethereal creature. That was at least what he thought, ignoring the swaying movements of his body.

“And anyway, where are ye going? It is the other way!” Dáin panted heavily, having finally caught up with the still smirking elf.

Without another word, Dáin dragged him back into the other direction, towards his own chambers as it seemed.

Surely, Thranduil could have fought him, at least if he had wanted to – but the prospect of the dwarf’s words thrilled him beyond measure.

It was so just so unlike himself and most likely Mirkwood’s King would have laughed whole-heartedly on a normal day, calling himself insane – but nothing seemed nor was normal that very night in the Lonely Mountain.

The dwarf’s Intoxicating scent, spicy and strong, combined with the heavy notes of mead and ale nearly took his breath away, tickling his senses. It was not love, Thranduil was not sure if it was lust either – it was the call of the forbidden, the thrill that Dáin’s suggestion had elicited, that had fogged his mind.

Certainly, neither of them was sober and it was most likely the very reason why they walked along Erebor’s long and dark corridors side by side, swaying and giggling helplessly over nothing.

 

 

~~~

The Elvenking’s heart missed a beat when the massive iron door fell shut behind them and Dáin decided to turn the key around with a smug smirk across his lips. There was neither time nor need for softly spoken words, seductive whispers in the dark to woo the other – it had been clear from the beginning where this journey of foolish passion would end.

“Ye look beautiful with all the decorations and ornaments on ye elf, but I fear I shall remove the one or the other from that pretty body of yours” Dáin snickered, his eyes shining with mischief and something else Thranduil could not interpret. “Starting now” and without another word, the Elvenking’s wintery crown of silver lay on the cold stones of Erebor – he had no idea how on earth the dwarf has reached his head.

Before he could solve the mystery, Dáin’s strong voice roared through the royal chambers once again – and for the first time (and certainly not for the last time) the elf was grateful for Erebor’s heavy stone walls that seemed to swallow every sound.

“Take it off” the dwarf commanded with his voice already horse, fidgeting at the soft garment that the elf wore – Thranduil obliged without hesitation, skilled fingers untied the lacings tantalizing slow, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim light of the torches.

Soon, the velvet robe sunk down onto the floor next to his silvery crown, a movement that was rewarded with a nod of approval from the dwarf. Indeed Dáin followed every movement of the elf with hungry eyes that gloomed in the twilight.

Thranduil had to admit that he had underestimated the swiftness of dwarves several times – today seemed no exception. Within the blink of an eye his hands were bound together behind his back, making it impossible to fight the perversions the dwarf had in mind – not that he wanted though. Long has the Elvenking given his consent to Dáin’s wicked fantasies, otherwise he would have never allowed the dwarf to strip him naked, let him touch his silken skin with his thick fingers, to tie his hands behind his back.

 _‘By the grace of the Valar - what on earth am I thinking?’_ The words briefly flickered through Thranduil’s mind, but as soon as they appeared they were gone, carried away by an icy wind. Apparently, he hadn’t thought much at all anymore the past hours, his body quivering in excitement and by the wintery chill that crept through the heavy stone walls.

For long moments nothing happened, Dáin just stared at him with wide and hungry eyes, and every now and then it was as if another perversion flickered through the dwarf’s lust and alcohol-fogged mind. Dáin’s smirk only intensified with every passing minute, soaking up the beautiful vision the Elvenking undoubtedly presented.

Slowly – almost predatory – Dáin began to encircle him as if he was prey, and if Thranduil was honest to himself, he most likely was something very similar to the new King of Erebor.

“Yir a skelf” _(_ _you are very thin)_ commented Dáin as his eyes wandered up and down the Elvenking’s body. Thranduil was neither skinny nor thin for elven standards but in comparison to the dwarf’s own short stature, his body was indeed lithe and slender.

“Such a beauty ye present, elf. Ye perfect skin, It is almost a shame to ruin it” Dáin mused aloud, letting his fingers wander over the back of the muscular thighs, further up the elf’s arse. The words that followed were never a request but a whispered command “Bent that pretty head of yirs for me”

Thranduil obeyed instantly and bent down until his head was on the same level, meeting Dáin’s eyes; without explaining himself he brushed the silken mane out of the way and the heavy iron collar was placed around the elf’s long neck, the dark metal ornamented with dwarvish runes highlighted against the pale skin of the Elvenking.

Thranduil involuntary froze as the cold metal touched his neck, his eyes widening in shock. “THAT was not part of the plan!” the elf muttered in protest

The image the once proud Elvenking presented was truly a sight to behold and Dáin stood for long moments, staring shamelessly with his mouth gasped ajar.

“What do ye know of my plans?” replied the dwarf with a sardonic smirk, stroking his long beard, apparently entirely contend with his work and the Elvenking’s appearance.

“Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye!” ( _What’s meant to happen will happen)_

“So it does appear” Thranduil replied calmly, his shining eyes directed towards Dáin just as if he awaited the next command to be spoken.

The elf was a mystery to Dáin – stripped naked right before him, being drunk as if there was no tomorrow for him – yet still his grace and kingly demeanor remained, being calm and almost stoic as ever.

Inwardly the dwarf wondered when exactly his mask of indifference would crackle piece by piece.

The mask would fall - sooner or later of that the dwarf was certain and the mere prospect made his heart jump, time he had enough that very night, but Dáin was never famous for being extraordinary patient.

Hastily, he wandered towards the other end of the room, sitting himself down on one of the massive chairs that stood nearby the table, gesturing the startled elf to follow with his hand in an inviting gesture.

It was beyond him how that elf, after all it was Mirkwood’s King that stood before him, who was surely unused to submit to anybody least a dwarf, obeyed every command he gave within seconds.

Many reactions had he expected from the proud and at times stubborn King, but this – none of it to be precise – was among them, the obedience was flawless and he wished his dwarves would oblige in such a perfect manner.

It was a most pleasant surprise nonetheless, Dáin mused as he watched the nude Elvenking sweep gracefully across the room into the direction where he sat, his pretty head bent in submission, the shining eyes directed toward the floor.

No additional words were needed from his side, it seemed as if this was the most natural thing to occur for the elf.

 

**~~**

“Gods, yir heavier than I’ve thought ye are!” the dwarf complained the moment when Thranduil came to rest in his lap, his body sprawled elegantly over his knees and thighs, the long blond hair brushing against the dark stone floor.

This was a truly a sight to behold, Dáin thought to himself as his thick fingers began to wander along the elf’s spine experimentally just as much as the bound hands allowed it.

Despite the indignity of his position, Thranduil still resembled beauty incarnated. Never before had Dáin he touched one of those wicked, immortal creatures – and he had never thought that he would do, least _WANTED_ to.

Yet there he sat, with Mirkwood’s proud King sprawled across his lap wearing nothing more than a dwarvish collar.

Dáin took a few moments to let the alluring images settle, but in his mind he already planned his next movements carefully.

Soon his large hands stroked down along the Elvenking’s sides, over his spine until they finally reached their target. Slowly, the dwarf began to massage each cheek firmly, digging his thick fingers into the silken skin until a soft moan fell from the elf’s lips. Inwardly, the dwarf laughed whole-heartedly - it was exactly what he had planned all along, to lull the elf into a sense of false security and strike soon after.

And indeed, the strike with the flat of his hand came out of nowhere and stood in high contrast to the almost gentle ministrations a second before, making the Elvenking squirm against his legs. Just in time Thranduil bit back the scream that nearly had left his lips, before he took a slow, deep breath in an attempt to steady his breathing and relax from the sudden assault. It was, however futile, as the second slap came soon after with a loud crack, already wringing an audible gasp from the elf’s throat, making his entire body jerk over Dáin’s thighs.

Dáin’s voice was deep, low and definitely sexual in its nature but Thranduil didn't comprehend the alien and rough language of the dwarves well enough to understand the dwarf’s words.

In silence he cursed, yet slightly ashamed he had to admit that he was indeed aroused by the compromising position he was held in.

His eyes rolled back when the next stroke came and with every slap against his arse he lost another piece of control over his mind and body, something he was entirely not used to, writhing against his tormentor in the arousing mixture of pain and pleasure. His usual demeanor completely dissolves with every slap that was bestowed onto his backside – it was exactly how Dáin had said it would.

“OUCH” Thranduil finally squeaked after a row of strikes, thrashing his slender legs upwards automatically when the pain seemed more than he could bear; until then, he had apart from his heavy breathing, remained quiet. “Hurts .. ouch” he whimpered helplessy.

His pleas however went ignored with a hearty and roaring laugh from the dwarf. His body spoke for him and he cursed in his own tongue when he felt his erection grow against the dwarf’s thigh and most likely Dáin could feel the hardness, too. “I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug! ( _I’ll give you a slap on the ear)_ if ye do not _s_ hut that pretty mouth of yours - or shall I make ye?”

And before the Elvenking could speak in protest, an ornamented gag dangled right before his eyes. “Another word and it is yours”

The horrified expression that hushed across the elf’s burning face went unnoticed by his tormentor – Thranduil simply shook his head, waiting for the next strike that was sure to follow. Two large hands cracked down on both cheeks simultaneously – he jerked and gasped but remained quiet just as Dáin has told him to, tears involuntary filling his eyes.

To his own surprise, Thranduil had to admit that soon pain was nearly entirely subsided by pleasure. It was madness how he could feel any desire in that compromising position he was held in – but the humiliating position was in fact the _VERY_ reason for his arousal.

Involuntary he began to push his hips upwards, meeting the dwarf’s hands expectantly and with every strike that came, a heated moan fell from his lips, exhaustion and arousal mingling in his mind.

Just in the moment when he expected the next strike to come, the dwarf’s voice roared like thunder through the room, making his head spin.

“Get off me!” demanded Dáin, but before Thranduil could oblige, he was violently shoved off the dwarf’s lap and landed on the cold stones of Erebor.

“And what was THAT for?” the Elvenking hissed into Dáin’s direction, his blue eyes darkened with the dangerous combination of lust and anger, and without his arms tied to his back he most likely would have reacted entirely differently. A fact that Dáin was well aware of and probably it was the very reason why he had restricted the elf’s mobility beforehand.

His smug smirk was enough answer, the dwarf decided and Thranduil frowned when the other sprang to his feet. The smirk was subsided by a feral, almost predatory grin.

The proud Elvenking mewled in protest when the dwarf’s thick fingers grabbed a fistful of his long hair, forcing his head back and him to look up.

It was humiliating, compromising – pure madness – but Thranduil simply did not care anymore, his dignity lay scattered on the cold floor of Erebor just like his silvery crown, his backside burning and aching from the previous ministration.

Whilst one of Dáin’s hands hold his head firmly in place, the other fondled with the lacings of his pants, revealing his already hard and thick cock.

"I'm gonna fuck that pretty mouth of your’s until you will scream for me, elf - with my cock buried deep inside it until you will make me come. Understood?” Dáin’s words were randomly interrupted by heavy pants and dark rumbling sounds that almost sounded like laughter.

Thranduil gasped audible as his gaze came to rest on the dwarf’s thick erection. The Elvenking was trembling from the shame Dáin’s words brought – but he did not object at the slightest, completely willing to relinquish control for this night, to do whatever the Dwarven King had decided for him.

Naked – wearing nothing more than the dwarven collar around his neck he knelt on Erebor’s cold stones, parting his lips and teeth in anticipation of what was his to take, staring with wide eyes at the metal that was pierced right through the head of the dwarf’s cock.

His lips, moist and wet, slipped around the dwarf’s thick cock smoothly and he was rewarded by a low groan from Dáin’s throat. But even before he could adjust to the thick organ in his mouth, it was pushed forcefully all the way down his mouth until the tip of the dwarf’s cock brushed against the back of his throat, choking him over and over. Thranduil quivered helplessly as he futilely struggled against the tight grip that the dwarf had against his head, not an inch could he flinch away from the sudden assault with his hands still tightly bound behind his back.

Involuntary his shining eyes began to water as he desperately sucked air through his nostrils whenever his position allowed it, gagging against the dwarf’s cock that did not move an inch in his mouth, at least not until the gagging became less frequent.

“How long have I dreamt to make ye shut up!” Dáin mused aloud, shortly before he began to shallowly trust into the elf’s mouth, circling his hips against the other’s face. Thranduil groaned upon the sudden movement, but with little to say in the matter.

With his hands bound, his head hold firmly in place he was completely at the dwarf’s mercy who used him however it pleased him, using him for his own wicked desires. With every thrust the cock in his mouth slipped deeper until his nose brushed against Dáin’s pelvis, making it impossible to breathe for seconds, with the silver ring brushing against the back of his throat repeatedly – soon tears ran down his burning cheeks.

With a shudder, realizing WHAT exactly he was doing and snapping for air, he tried to pull back in a futile attempt only to find out that the hand at the back of his head only pushed him back down.

“Not an inch, elf” Dáin snorted downwards, holding him down for long moments until he nearly lost consciousness. It was helpless, it was pure madness – but despite the pain and humiliation he felt, it was thrilling beyond measure and his body responded instantly with every thrust into his mouth.

After swallowing hard several times, he allowed this jaw to relax, pressing his tongue against the underside of Dáin’s cock, gazing upwards with watery eyes and burning cheeks. It was as if he spoke his consent in silence and the dwarf did not hesitate a moment longer to resume his actions, pulling all the way out before he thrust in again, fucking the Elvenking’s throat repeatedly until the other coughed upon the alien invasion.

An incomprehensible swear in Khuzd _û_ l was the only warning Thranduil received before the dwarf came deep down his throat with a feral growl, the grip on the back of his head painfully tightened – he swallowed awkwardly around the twitching cock and his eyes fluttered shut, it was too much at once. Simply too much to comprehend, to take.

“Valar forgive” Thranduil panted heavily when Dáin finally pulled out, snapping for air as his mouth was free again, thin trails of saliva and cum spread across his lips. It was then, that he realized just how desperately wanton he had become whilst Dáin had fucked him like nobody before.“Touch me, fill me, do what you please you're in control of me tonight” he offered hoarsely, absolutely no shame nor dignity left.

“Oh I will, my pretty forest fairy” Dáin said determined, brushing with his calloused fingers over the elf’s burning cheek almost lovingly. Just a second before he grabbed the collar around the elf’s neck and drag him to his feet again, kissing him hard onto his mouth for the first time.

 

~~

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language (and I hope i did not completely fuck up with the slang)...I am sorry for all remaining mistakes (feel free to poke me, though)


End file.
